After the wind
by Hanaty
Summary: After the wind come the broken pieces. OS. Spoilers for the Lying Detective.


**Take place after the Lying Detective S4 E3.**

English is not my usual language for fanfic so I apologise for any mistake. Let me know and I will correct it.

Disclaimer : The characters of this story do not belong to me.

After the wind come the broken pieces.

* * *

Mycroft slowly walked inside the room and just reached for the cabinet in the corner of his home office. Nobody would blame him after those hell of weeks. Nobody in their right mind. He needed something harsh and strong, something that could make him forget that his house was not safe. Sherlock did a damn well good job with his last prank – or deduction- and he didn't sleep for a few days. After that, his sister tried to bomb him and kill the rest of the siblings along with a few innocent people.

Yeah, he really needed this drink tonight.

When his hand reached for the glass, he realized he was shaking. "Post traumatic stress" had said the medic. He wanted to laugh but didn't even break a smile. He was too tired. His time in this cell not knowing if he would make it or die there let a heavy and dreadful feeling on him. Feeling that he was not used to. He poured himself a glass after a few minutes of breathing exercises. He could not go mental right now, it was still too fresh...literally. He did not have time to clean up or change yet and was not in the mood or had the will to.

He drank his first glass in one gulp and wanted to pour a second one but he realized the glass was in pieces in his hand, broken. _He_ had broken it. _Well_ , he just took the nice Italian carafe and sit on his desk chair. He needed to sort all those info in his mind palace before anything else happen but he was not looking for it. He should have done this hours ago but the feelings -fear, guilt, relief, shame- were too much for someone who does not allow feelings.

* * *

Anthea knew better than to show up at Mycroft Holmes' house in the middle of the night without invitation -or being summon- but she knew what happen and knew he would not be asleep after this episode. _What the hell_ , she had not slept the last previews days. The week had been close to a nightmare at the Government. Let Mycroft leave for a week and all the disasters anyone could imagine will try to break through. She had to talk with him and sooner rather than letter.

Entering the office easily, she just raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the scene. It was dark and cold -well, more than it usually be at least- and the image of Mycroft sitting in his chair, lost in his own thoughts, a half bottle of scotch in his hand, gave her a chilly sensation.

In a few steps, she was beside him and this feeling got stronger, worse.

"Sir...?"

 _We have to talk_ never came out. Something was wrong. She could easily say when he was in his mind palace but he was not. He was just starring on the floor his mind somewhere not particularly nice.

"Sir...?" she tried again.

And she saw it. He was bleeding. A bad cut from...she looked around and saw the pieces of a shattered glass. _Good God_. She reached for his handkerchief and checked for any pieces before trying to stop the bleeding.

« Mr Holmes...?" she tried again "we have to clean this up".

She tried to keep her voice low and warm but she was starting to feel worried. Mycroft was a keystone of the Government, the backbone of the family but right now he was just a mess that she was glad nobody else could witness. It would be hell on earth.

She kneeled before him to catch his eyes. He was still seeing through her and she could not stop her anxiety.

"Mycroft...?" she asked one more time shaking a bit his hands. She was relief when he finally met her eyes.

"Mycroft are you okay? "

"Anthea". His voice was rough and low, something broken.

"Yes it's me"

His hand brushed a strand of her hair behind her hear still looking _through_ her and not _at_ her. She should have came sooner, she should have been by his side like she always do. She should have...

"You are beautiful" came his dreamy voice. A soft and gentle smile appeared.

 _What?_ Now she was worried sick. Never -NEVER- would Mycroft Holmes say something like that. What happened with his siblings for him to be like _this_? _Heck_ , anyone with two highly functioning sociopaths and murderers as siblings would freak out or _break_. But Mycroft Holmes does not break -never-.

"Mycroft how many drinks did you have?". It was a genuine question.

He looked around and shrugged. She saw the Italian carafe on the floor next to his feet. Empty. _Good Mother of God_.

"Let's...let's go to bed, would you?"

She did not know how he managed to walk to his room or even stay on his feet but he did it. He sat on the edge of the bed while she finished the dressing on his hand.

"Mycroft...?"

He did not move an inch and she realized he was gone again. She slowly helped him to remove his waistcoat and his shoes.

"I don't want to sleep" he said with a barely audible voice.

She wanted to tell him that he did _need_ to sleep but the fear on his eyes stopped her.

"Just...lie down if you don't want to sleep, have some rest, okay?"

"I..."

"Just a few minutes"

She wanted so much to take him in her arms, hug him and tell him that everything would be all right, but she knew better. She pushed the bed sheet and helped him to lie down.

"Sorry what did you say?" It was just a muffled noise while she was getting closer to the door.

"Stay...please".

He was not looking at her, his face on the opposite wall, curled up into the big bed but she could see the strain in his neck and shoulders. He needed to sleep and somehow she knew he would not be able to.

She kick off her shoes, took of her jacket and got into the devilishly comfortable bed. She was just about to close her eyes when she heard it : the sob. Quiet and soft but still there. She swallowed. Hard. Everyone thought he was an Ice Man but he was not and she would have preferred to never see how human he was. It would have made things easier between them...or maybe just for her. She could have kept her inner voices quiet each time he smiled at her or each time she woke up alone in her bed or worse, with someone. It would have make it easier to pretend she, also, was without feeling.

She pushed all these thoughts away and slowly close the distance between them and put an arm around him. Startled at first, he finally gave in to the warm embrace and tightened her hands into his. The sobs became louder and she could feel the wet of his tears, the shaking of his whole body, the despair. She hugged him a bit closer letting her own treacherous tears fall.

* * *

When she woke up, the place was cold, empty. She smirked, not really disappointed -again she knew better- but still. She was sore and tired from last night. She had cuddle him and reassure him and talk to him every time a nightmare had plagued him. She remembered the sun was rising when she last checked. Searching for a clock -her watch was nowhere to be seen and it was too early for having a look at the hundred messages on her smartphone- she saw a piece of paper folded in half. She took it and opened it with one hand.

 _Thank you_.

She smiled, genuinely this time. Mycroft does not say thank you when it come for his feelings or his weaknesses. Maybe something good will come from this.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed it. Let me some reviews^^.


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